The Confessor

::Introductory Notes::

Hey guys! I don't think most of y'all were expecting this, eh? Yeah, it's true, I haven't written much about Jugdral, except for a request, but I've had notes for this fic sitting around for a looooong time and I wanted to get it out. There are 4 other things I want to complete before bidding adieu entirely to Fire Emblem (Wayward Son, The Last Red Shoulder, another WS sidestory, and completing a Puppet's History—should take me about a year, year and a half at most), so now that this is done I'll continue with those. Also, FE4 was the first FE game I ever beat, so I guess I have a *little* sentimental attachment to it and wanted to write my own fic for it in addition to my brother-man utdfan22's request (you should all read his fics, BTW). Okay, just a quick note for the reader:

All names come from the translated script on Serenes Forest, NOT Awakening. I.E it'll be Cuan rather than Quan, Eltshan rather than Eldigan, and so on. This isn't intended as a jab at Awakening or anything, it's for the sake of consistency. Since Palmark himself hasn't been given an "official" name from NOA yet, I thought it would be confusing if I called him Palmark while using NOA names for everyone else, especially if he does show up in Awakening DLC at some point and they change his name. Thus, I took *all* the names from a single source, and the script on Serenes was the most convenient. Please don't feel insulted, Awakening fans, I just wanna make things as easy on my readers as possible. ^^

Anyways, enough talk. On with the show!

Chapter 1: A Duke's Confession

Truth be told, Father Palmark didn't like his job much. He certainly knew he should have been very thankful for it; few ecclesiastical positions were nicer than the one he occupied right now as the personal priest of Duke Victor of Velthomer. Yes, his short brown hair, youthful, twenty-three year old face, and modest blue surplice would not have seemed out of place on any other low-ranked priest in Jugdral, but the size of his personal coffers indicated he was a great deal more fortunate than the typical Edda clergyman. However, as he sat impatiently waiting for his master in the small confessional of Castle Velthomer's small chapel, Victor's tardiness reminded him of the fact that his appointment was more of an insult than an honor.

The great houses of Grandbell differed in their histories, traditions, and most importantly bloodlines, so it naturally came as no surprise that their rulers took very different approaches to their personal lives and had very different attitudes towards religion. Some, like Dukes Vylon and Ring of Chalphy and Jungby, were pious and upright men who sincerely believed in the teachings of Blagi and His church of Edda. On the other hand, others such as Langobalt and Leptor of Dozel and Freege were entirely unconcerned with faith. They paid only lip service to King Azmur's edict that his loyal retainers should serve the Gods as well as their Lord. Every master of a great house was required by law to have a personal priest who would serve as both their liaison to Edda and their personal spiritual guide, but men such as Leptor obeyed the law only to the letter. They never attended Mass, they never sought guidance from their priests, and, obviously, they never accepted the sacrament of Confession more than the bare minimum of once a year. Even that annuity was marked by nothing more than a brief, lazy description of the most venial of venial sins, such as waking up late in the mornings or swearing.

For obvious reasons, they never told their confessors of their far more serious transgressions—the mortal sins of adultery and graft, theft and deceit. Ironic that men such as Vylon partook of the sacrament when they had so little to confess, whereas men such as Leptor confessed so little and needed the sacrament more than any other.

To Palmark's lasting annoyance and sadness, Duke Victor was cut of the same cloth as Leptor and Langobalt.

Palmark never even saw him more than once a year—he spent virtually all his time at the seediest bordellos and taverns, despite being married to one of the loveliest maidens in all of Jugdral, Dame Cigyun. It was common knowledge that he was a gleeful adulterer and very much breaking his wife's heart, but he never evinced the slightest contrition for his excesses. Instead, during the two times he had seen Palmark, he had only "confessed" to the sins of being "excessively charitable" (at his wife's behest, he had donated one hundred gold to a local orphanage) and "spoiling his son" (he had bought Alvis a cheap Iron Sword for the lad's sixth birthday, despite the fact that he was training in magic, not swordplay). He had worn the same gleeful expression on his face that made Palmark want to punch him—the sort of expression that said, "I know I'm a terrible man, and you do too—but I don't care, I'm not going to admit it to you, and there's nothing you can do about it."

And, of course, Palmark had done nothing.

That was why he'd been given this position, after all. The great lords of Grandbell may have been required to keep a priest whether they liked it or not, but they had some say in the sort of holy man they received. Victor had specifically asked Edda for someone quiet and unobtrusive, and the higher clergy saw that Palmark was a perfect fit. That was what galled him, and that was why he found his comfortable, well-compensated office so frustrating: By declaring him suited for a man like Victor, Palmark's overseers had essentially told him he was a weak-willed, lukewarm, and servile bureaucrat rather than the zealous defender of the faith he had always hoped he'd be. And the fact he'd never stood up to Victor proved them right, which galled him even more.

But, as it turned out, Palmark would find today's confession to be far more traumatizing than insulting.

He resisted the urge to sigh (though he did so inwardly) when he heard the door to the chapel open and heavy footsteps stagger to the confessional, followed by the distinct odor of cheap liquor wafting from the other side of the screen. Palmark grimaced—wine was yet another of Victor's vices he gleefully enjoyed; the boorish noble loved alcohol as much as women and seemed to flaunt his lack of temperance. But, as usual, it was something Palmark simply had to tolerate.

"I'm glad you came to see me today, Lord Velthomer," said Palmark, as amiably and respectfully as he could—and he loathed himself for masking the disgust he wished to express. "Receiving your request for Confession was a pleasant surprise!" It may not have been pleasant, but it was a surprise—Victor had his required yearly confession two months ago, so Palmark hadn't been expecting to see him 'till next year.

"Mmm," came the slurred, half-drunken voice from the other side of the screen. "Ye…yes. I've gots…I've got…some-something important to tell you today, Father."

A chill suddenly ran through Palmark's spine. He got the distinct impression that there was something wrong with Victor today. Very, very wrong.

But he wasn't sure, so he didn't say anything. He merely began the ritual as he was trained to do, as he always did. "Then please, speak to me, my son."

With a deep breath, Victor began.

"Shegnen Shie mich Vater, den—hic! ish habe gesündigt."

As was proper and required—and somewhat impressive in his drunken state—Victor was speaking in the Old Tongue. His words meant, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." Palmark, therefore, responded in kind:

Alle wir haben sündigten, denn wir sind alle menschlich. Lassen Sie Ihre Sünden und in den Namen der Götter und der Kreuzfahrer, sie wird verziehen zu.

"We have all sinned, for we are all human. Admit your sins, and in the names of the Gods and the Crusaders, they shall be forgiven."

"Father Pa…lmark, I'm an adulterer and a whoremonger, a drunkard and a thug. I…hic! I've mistreated my son and dishonored my marriage bed…"

He stopped suddenly, as if he was thinking of what to say next, and Palmark was taken aback, struck speechless. Had Victor experienced a revelation? Was he trying to repent for his sins? Did he finally wish to change his path? What a glorious day for the faith! Perhaps the Gods had intended Palmark's appointment to be an opportunity, not an affront. Excitedly, the young priest said, "I understand all this, son. Your sins are indeed grave, but don't worry! The forgiveness of the beneficent Gods is limitless. There is always time to make amends. If you truly wish to repent—"

Victor laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "No, father. 'S too late for that. 'specially when everyone else has sinned worse!"

"W…what do you mean?"

He laughed again, "I'm a cuckold, too. That's what! My wife an' Prince Kurth, they… they've…" A laugh that sounded like it was a sob.

"I…uh…" Palmark felt beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. A scandal of this nature and seriousness? His time in the seminary had definitely not prepared him for this. "It…this is terrible, but, ah, not unsolvable. First, you must be reconciled with your wife, and then Prince Kurth, and—"

"Pfah! No…hic, no reconshiliashun for me, Father! I jus' came here because I wanted to confess one last sin. Jus' in case Gehenna really does exist. Figered a lil' insurance couldn't hurt!"

"Son, what are you—"

"Forgive me, Gods above, for committing the most mortal sin: Self-murder!"

The blood in Palmark's veins froze as he heard a most terrible noise coming from the other side of the screen. "Lord Victor!" he yelled, "Lord Victor?!"

He leapt to his feet, slammed out of his compartment, and opened the small but ornate wooden door which led to the parishioner's compartment.

The first thing he noticed was blood. So much blood.

The Duke of Velthomer, direct descendant of Kreuzfahrerin Fala, lay slumped against his seat in the confessional, a thick stream of red oozing from the ragged cut he had torn through his own throat. The weapon with which he had killed himself—a small ceremonial dagger—lay discarded on the floor, just below his limp, motionless right hand. Below his left lay a scrap of paper which Palmark assumed to be his suicide note.

The confessor stood still for a moment, not entirely comprehending the horrific scene in front of him. When it finally registered, he took a step back.

And then he began to scream.

::Linear Notes::

Victor, Alvis' father, was said in the Designer's Notes to kill himself. The mangas offer differing interpretations of how it happened, so I decided to put my own spin on it.